We have discussed how the future extends before us along a diverging set of pathways, a peacock’s tail of possibility. Every moment brings us to another fork in the road. On most days, we don’t have earth-shattering decisions to make, such as “Shall I emigrate?” or “Should I call off the wedding?” But every decision we make, big or small, selects a branch to a different future. We stand before a dizzying array of nameless doors, and every time we open one, we find ourselves with another set of choices to make.
Given that our emotions are based largely on our thoughts, one way to feel worse is to use the strategy described in the preceding lesson: focus on the potential disasters. Another is more subtle: seize upon and hope for one of the rosier options.
This might seem odd. Won’t hope for a shining future backfire and produce happiness instead? This, after all, is why most people are so drawn to hope. Yes, the contemplation of tomorrow’s wonders may well make us cheerful—for a time. Our old friend misery, however, lurks just around the corner.
The challenge is that although we can imagine various futures, we cannot guarantee they will come about. No matter how hard we hope for Future A, we cannot eliminate the chance that Futures X, Y, or Z will transpire instead. We might guess that our odds of scoring tickets to the Iron Maiden concert are 65 percent, but this only prompts our brain to remind us of the 35 percent chance of disappointment.
Hope, then, is always a two-sided coin. You might get the outcome you wanted, but then again, you might not. This is why Buddhists often speak of hope as a combination package: hope-and-fear. Hope summons fear as a natural accompaniment, like Batman and Robin, ham and cheese, or smoke and fire. You seldom get one without the other. Pinning your present happiness on a bright but conditional future automatically sows the seeds of misery-inducing anxiety:
When you attempt to brighten your mood with visions of the job you just applied for, you become uncomfortably aware that you may not get it. The joy of hope, then, is as brittle as the skin on a crème brûlée. You can feel yourself sliding out over thin ice, conscious of the depths beneath.
Further, both hope and fear come from a focus on the imaginary future rather than the singular moment of present reality. It is in the present that we actually live, in the present that we have a degree of real influence, and in the present that our misery can be most easily interrupted by contentment, satisfaction, and calm. The present is almost always manageable, though it is typically less exciting than the melodramas playing out on the other screens of the mental cinema—hence the difficulty that aficionados of mindfulness report in keeping their minds there. Misery is easier.
Ah, but what if hope is used to guide our behavior? What if we create a vision of the future, then lay out the steps to get there and set out on the journey? This is perhaps the only way that a focus on hope may defeat our quest for discontent. Even here, however, hope brings along its anxious twin. We might do all we can to secure the job we have envisioned, but still we cannot stamp out the possibility that they will find someone who is better qualified.
It is more useful, however, simply to use hope as a substitute for action, which is what we usually do anyway. We entertain ourselves with lovely visions but do nothing to make them materialize. Nowhere is this phenomenon more evident than in the assertions of The Secret, a book and film created by an Australian reality-television producer. Advocates of the “Law of Attraction” believe that carefully envisioning specific outcomes actually causes the lines of the future to shift, bringing objectives closer. Imagine a future spouse, for example, and one may come knocking at the door.
It’s easy to see how this principle might actually work, if it causes subtle shifts in our behavior. By envisioning a partner, perhaps we will get out more, take better care of ourselves, and smile more frequently in the direction of members of our preferred gender. All of these changes could work to increase the odds of partnership. The “Secret” is not supposed to operate via our own efforts, however, but through mysterious forces in the universe.
A belief that “hoping will make it so” is an ideal example of the usefulness of hope in the promotion of misery—particularly given that it is so demonstrably false. Witness the millions who purchase lottery tickets, entertaining clear visions of winning but failing to do so; the candidates anticipating election and being defeated at the polls; the entrepreneurs whose businesses fail—and the rancorous lawsuits over the profits of The Secret itself. A belief in the power of pure hope over action pulls us from contact with our actual present-day lives, promotes anxiety, and encourages a passive and ineffective approach to the realization of our goals.
So go ahead. Hope. Try to boost your mood by fixating on an imagined future. Long for your fantasy to come true. Your anxiety will build, your efforts will cease, and your present will pass unnoticed. Perfect for creating unhappiness.